


Bound

by Gaffsie



Series: Choices [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Light Sadism, M/M, Shower Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 16:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaffsie/pseuds/Gaffsie
Summary: Hiram indulges himself.





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> [Written for a kinkmeme prompt](https://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=701004#cmt701004).

The rope is, strictly speaking, unnecessary. Hiram knows that the boy's obedience is guaranteed.

It's an indulgence, really. Jughead doesn't like it when Hiram ties him up, and that's certainly part of the appeal, Jughead's wide mouth down-turned and pouting in displeasure, his blue-green eyes stormy, even as he obediently gives his arms to Hiram, lets him criss-cross the rope around them and tie them tightly together behind his back.

Aesthetic appeal is certainly part of it too. The boy looks so good when he's rendered overtly helpless like this. Those pale and slender limbs wrapped up with black rope, looking like the best kind of present. Hiram hasn't tried shibari yet, but he's considering taking it up. Have Jughead trussed up like a piece of art by the fireplace as he works; something pretty to glance over at from time to time, to make the hours go by faster.

But really, the main appeal is that it keeps him pliable and still. Hiram doesn't know if Jughead's even aware of it, but whenever he ties him up, he _relaxes_ , stops fighting his body's responses to Hiram's touch. A little bondage slut in the making, and it burns Hiram up that such a gift is wasted on the likes of FP Jones, who thinks that he can just slap on a pair of handcuffs and call it a day.

Hiram's washed Jughead before, enjoys forcing that intimacy on him, but the boy had been so stiff and unresponsive that it had taken some of the pleasure out of it.

Now, he relaxes into it, practically purrs like a kitten when Hiram reaches up and washes his hair for him, eyes closing in bliss, basking in the tender touches Hiram bestows on him. He ends up spending long minutes massaging his scalp just to catch all the little sounds of pleasure Jughead makes in response to his touch, breathy little moans that Hiram fears he's growing addicted to hearing.

Eventually he can't pretend there's even a molecule of shampoo left in his hair, so he moves on. Picks up the expensive cedar-scented soap he himself prefers. Probably a far cry from what the kid usually uses; _Irish Spring_ or _AXE Bodywash_ or whatever cheap crap FP stocks his bathroom with, no doubt. There's something appealing about sending Jughead home to his father smelling of Hiram, almost as much so as sending him home stained with Hiram's come. The former is more subtle, but it's still a sign of ownership, a _claim_.

Jughead lets Hiram work the soap into a lather on his chest, down his stomach, between his thighs. He soaps up his cock, and it thickens in his hand, responsive and eager, and Jughead doesn't try to fight it, eyes closed, head falling back on Hiram's shoulder as he jacks it. Even goes so far as to moan quietly, bereft, when Hiram releases it.

Soapy fingers rubbing at his rim, already red and fucked open from before, Jughead twitching a little in discomfort, sore and sensitive after what Hiram's put him through, pushing in and cleaning him out, all that come and lube, soap no doubt stinging a little. He keeps clenching his hands, a little restlessly, but he's quiet. No smart comments or insults. Accepting.

“Sore?” Hiram asks him, mocking him a little, adding another finger just to hear him hiss.

“What do you think?” Jughead bites back, testy, the fight not completely gone out from him. The way Hiram likes, and he smiles to himself, watching himself fuck his fingers in and out of that swollen rim, knowing that the boy is going to have to ride home to the south side on his bike later, spend the next day sitting down at one of those uncomfortable desks at Riverdale High, being forced to remember the way Hiram's used him every time he shifts.

His Veronica has an English final tomorrow, and Hiram knows Jughead is in the same class as her. Knows he does well at that subject too; wouldn't miss an important test even if he's been kept up late.

“Rode hard and put away wet,” he mumbles, and Jughead scoffs.

“Whatever.”

It's such a teenage thing to say, and if Hiram was a man burdened by _morals_ , it might make him feel a little bad, this reminder that, serpent leader and annoying pain in the ass besides, Jughead's still just a kid, no older than his own daughter.

But since he isn't such a man, he just chuckles and presses a kiss to Jughead's cheek.

“Such an attitude,” he tuts. “Maybe we should put your mouth to better use.”

Jughead makes a small sound of assent, like he doesn't mind the idea of going to his knees for Hiram. Or, more likely, maybe he just prefers that to the alternative.

“But first we need to clean you up,” he says, testing his hypothesis, and being proved right when Jughead breathes out shakily, no doubt familiar enough with Hiram by now to know what he has in mind.

He doesn't say anything when Hiram pushes back inside him with his fingers though, no complaints or pleas falling from his lips. Just that ragged breathing and the occasional whimper when Hiram presses down on his prostate. He's already come three times tonight, and Hiram wants to know if he can make it four, or if there's a limit to teenage refractory periods.

“Please,” Jughead finally whimpers, a little desperate sounding. He's clenching around Hiram's fingers, body twitching helplessly.

“It's too much,” he sobs, and Hiram wishes he could see his face. Wonders if he's crying.

“You can take it,” Hiram says, “little cock slut like you?”

He reaches around with one hand and finds his dick hard.

“You're gonna come for me,” Hiram tells him, like it's a promise, jerking his dick off as he's pushing into him with his fingers.

Jughead shakes his head in hopeless denial, his wet hair brushing against Hiram's cheek.

“It hurts,” he says, voice very small now.

“I know.”

It's a cold statement of fact, nothing more. It doesn't stop his attentions to that little nub inside him, doesn't stop his hand moving on Jughead's cock.

Improbably, Jughead actually relaxes against him again, maybe struck by the inevitability of Hiram's will. If Hiram wants him to come like this, he has no choice in the matter. It's an alluring thought; that he's already proved to the boy that his will is law when they're together like this.

There are no more pleas, just quiet choked back whimpers and moans that are going straight to Hiram's dick. It would be so easy to just exchange fingers for dick, push into Jughead and chase his own pleasure, but it's better like this, playing the boy's body like it's an instrument. He'll get his later; once he's thoroughly wrecked the boy.

It takes longer this time, the exhaustion and discomfort no doubt taking its toll, but he does manage to bring the boy to orgasm. Jughead comes with a sob, sounding equal parts wounded and relieved, clamping down on Hiram's fingers, and coming almost dry in Hiram's hand.

“Good boy,” Hiram murmurs, and Jughead, well-trained by now, thanks him, calls him sir, voice breaking a little on the word.

It makes Hiram gentler than he otherwise would be, turning the shivering boy by his arms and pushing him down on his knees with kind hands.

Jughead looks up at him, eyes very green and shiny, lower lip trembling a little. Hiram smiles at him and brushes his wet bangs away from his face.

He changes the shower setting to a light mist, not wanting to drown the boy, but not wanting him to get cold either.

When he tilts Jughead's head back a little, hand on his forehead, he opens his mouth without even being told to, moaning a little when Hiram pushes his dick in through the soft and tempting 'o' of his lips.

“That's my good boy,” Hiram tells him, and Jughead closes his eyes, long eye-lashes brushing his cheeks, accepting the endearment the same way he accepts everything else Hiram chooses to give him.

  
  


 


End file.
